


Down With The Sickness

by dametokillfor



Category: Avenged Sevenfold
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-11-17
Updated: 2010-11-17
Packaged: 2017-10-18 06:41:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,278
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/186083
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dametokillfor/pseuds/dametokillfor
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>PWP. Brian's sick. Matt just wants to remember what silence is. Clearly the only option is to seduce the invalid.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Down With The Sickness

**Author's Note:**

> This is the longest one shot I've written. I'm also not entirely happy with Brian's characterization in this. Title from Disturbed.

They say what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger.

Clearly _they_ have never had to deal with a sick Brian.

Matt loves Brian, he really does.

He loves the other mans energy, his passion, his talent, his wit, ~~his ass~~ , but when Brian gets sick, he becomes the most _unbearable human being alive_.

They’ve just finished a European tour and Brian’s come down with a cold. At the first sneeze, back in the UK, Matt had thrown an orange at Brian’s head and told him that he’d “better fuckin’ kill it right fuckin’ now”. Brian threw the orange right back at Matt, telling him to shove it up his ass. Twenty minutes of projectiles being thrown across the bus had resulted in Matt pinning his lover to the floor until he relented.

Matt thinks the seeds spat at his head were Brian’s way of saying ‘thank you’.

Of course, Matt’ s attempts at prevention were _fruitless_ and Brian still got sick.

“I can see the light!”

Unfortunately, his voice is still intact.

Matt’s not even in the same room as him now, he’s stood in the kitchen, his head leaning against one of the dark wood cabinets. His eyes are screwed shut and he’s muttering darkly under his breath.

“If you take his voice, I will do whatever you ask.”

There’s silence, then a coughing fit coming from the other room. Matt is pretty certain that he’s going to hell for hoping that his prayer has been answered.

As the coughs die down, there’s a blissful quiet. The tiniest hint of a smile reaches Matt’s face before;

“I fuckin’ hate Europe.” comes a hoarse voice.

Matt can’t help but chuckle a little. Brian sounds infuriated, tired ~~and the tiniest bit adorable~~. Matt picks up the soup that he’d originally come into the room for from the side and heads back into the living room.

Brian’s laid on the couch, an old check blanket covering him. There’s tissue stuffed up each nostril, his nose and eyes are both red, his usually gravity defying hair is flopped over his face.

Matt hands Brian the soup, before sitting in the chair opposite him.

“You don’t hate Europe.” He scolds.

“It’s trying to,” there’s a pause for a sneeze, “kill me! And you back in Germany. Face it, Matt, the continent has a vendetta against us.”

Matt rolls his eyes and gets up from the chair, checking Brian’s forehead. He’s warm but not so much that he should be harbouring delusions about a countries intentions towards him.

“Jesus, Matt, you look like shit.” Brian announces out of nowhere.

Matt looks down to him, “Because you‘re looking like a model right now.”

“I’m sick, what’s your excuse?”

“You’re sick.”

“Which means you should be lookin’ fuckin’ flawless so I have incentive to get better.” Brian says, “Because right now, nothing.”

Matt glares down at him, “Fuck you.”

“Not looking like that, you won’t.”

It takes Matt approximately seven seconds to tear the blanket from Brian and push him against the back of the couch, straddling his thighs.

“Won’t I?” Matt asks.

They’ve been together so long now that Brian hasn’t even flinched. He’s simply in a slightly different position, looking over Matt with an almost offended look on his face.

“That shirt’s fuckin’ disgusting.” He says, flicking at it, “You haven’t shaved in about a week, I can see your ginger.”

Again Matt’s wishing Brian had caught laryngitis or anything that would take his voice away. He knows the older man is trying to rile him up, was obviously a little bored with lying on the couch and wanted something to entertain him.

But fuck, it’s still _unbearably_ annoying.

“I mean, you’re not ginger where it counts but…”

Matt clamps a hand over Brian’s mouth, “Shut up.”

Brian’s still talking behind Matt’s hand.

“ _Brian_.” Matt warns, “Shut. The fuck. Up.”

Brian’s mouth stops moving.

For a second.

Before he sneezes.

Matt pulls his hand away, complaining about the disgusting mess as he wipes his hand clean on the blanket that Brian’s been covered with.

“I tried to warn you but you had my mouth covered…” Brian starts. He’s cut off when Matt thrusts a tissue into his mouth. He knows it’s a lame attack but he’s been attacked by Brian germs and he isn’t really thinking straight.

“You’d make a shit nurse.” Brian says, spitting the tissue out, “Your bedside manner is…”

“If I blow you, will you shut up?” Matt cuts him off, “Or go to sleep or fuckin’ leave me for Johnny for a week so I can fuckin’ remember what silence sounds like?”

Brian’s silent for a moment, Matt can’t believe his luck.

“You can always try.”

Matt’s only option is to play dirty.

He pushes Brian down to the couch, straddling his thighs - something that isn’t easy with the small amount of space they have. His hand moves to Brian’s crotch, teasing him through the thin fabric of the sleep pants he wears.

“You want to rethink that answer?” Matt asks, “Because you know I’ll fuckin’ leave you here, hard and desperate.”

“And I’ll whine.” Brian warns him, voice hitching a little.

“I’ll leave the house.”

“I’ll call you.”

“I’ll turn off my phone.”

“I’ll fill your voicemail.”

“Brian, will you just shut up for an hour?” Matt asks, stilling all action on his lover, “An hour, I’ll fuckin’ time it if I have to.”

“Six minutes.” Brian counters.

“Six- _ty_.”

“Twenty three.”

“Where the fuck are you getting these numbers?” Matt asks, momentarily distracted by his boyfriends train of thought, “An hour or I leave you here.”

He starts palming at Brian’s cock again, his other hand moving up under the shirt he has on. Matt’s not surprised to notice that it’s one of his.

“What makes you think I won’t just jerk off?” Brian asks. Matt can tell he’s reaching now. He’s trying to be stubborn but he’s breaking.

“Because you won’t be able to do what I can do.” Matt says with a smirk, moving down Brian’s thighs. He’s pushing his shirt up higher, his lips meeting the warm flesh now.

“I still haven’t agreed.” Brian says, his voice hitching.

Matt tugs down the sleep pants, not giving Brian a chance before he leans down and swipes his tongue across the head.

“I’m not shutting up.” Brian insists again, his voice already more of a whimper than anything else.

Matt doesn’t say anything more, instead putting his mouth to better use. If Brian won’t agree to stay quiet beforehand, see how pliant he is afterwards. It’s an evil tactic but one that men and women the world over have used for years, Matt’s not against the classics.

His tongue traces up the vein along the length of Brian’s cock, the other man is still trying to insist that he’s not going to give in. That he’s going to be loud, obnoxious and annoying.

As Matt tongues at his balls, Brian’s being loud, obnoxious and annoying but only to the dogs in the other room.

Matt runs his hand over Brian’s shaft, his tongue following. Brian’s not speaking anymore, the only sounds coming from him are noises of elation. He grabs at Matt’s hair, gripping him tightly, trying to get him to actually “stop teasing and start fuckin’ doing something.”

Matt’s laugh is a low rumble as he decides to actually indulge his lover. His second hand moves to Brian’s chest, tweaking a nipple as his mouth descends on his dick.

The noises Brian is making as Matt’s tongue works over him are fuckin’ delicious. They’re the best thing the man has done all night. If Brian’s incessant yapping was like this, Matt wouldn’t be so willing to make deals to get him to shut up.

Matt’s pretty certain Brian’s being so loud to piss him off, he’s a vocal lover but not usually to the same extent that he is now. Whatever, Matt can handle it.

His tongue swirls around the head, dipping into the slit, causing a sweet cry from the other man. Brian’s hand grips tighter on his hair.

Matt’s other hand moves now, leaving Brian’s chest. He pulls back from Brian’s dick, leaving the other man whimpering. Matt crawls up Brian’s body, pulling his shirt from him as he goes, before tracing his lips with his fingers. Brian’s not an especially pretty sight up close right now, but the noises he’s making are more than enough to get Matt’s dick interested as well.

Brian sucks the fingers into his mouth, greedily, as Matt kisses down his neck.

Matt pulls his fingers back, starts moving his kisses down over Brian’s body.

“You are never shaving again.” Brian mumbles.

Matt laughs against his stomach, peering up at him, “I thought I looked like shit.”

“You do.” Brian replies, “But fuckin’ stubble…”

He trails off as Matt distracts him by slipping his spit-slick fingers into him, his smart ass comment lost in a cry. Matt’s fingers move within, working him open, purposely avoiding Brian’s spot, knowing how much it’ll piss him off.

His tongue is drawing lazy patterns on Brian’s stomach, enjoying the way the other man is moving beneath him, arching into his touch.

“Matt, please…” Brian pleads, his voice cracking, “I’ll shut up…”

Matt smiles against Brian’s stomach. Victory.

He sits up on his haunches, momentarily thanking the other man for his unwillingness to let him do anything like putting on jeans this morning. He slips his own shorts over his hips and spits into his hands. It’s not especially pleasant but his other option is cold chicken noodle soup and there are some lines he’s not willing to cross.

He coats himself and grabs Brian’s legs, pulling him closer. He lines up with the other man, one hand gripping his hip, the other grabbing his calf, before pushing in slowly.

Brian’s arms are gripping the couch as he lets out a half cry of pain. No matter how much they do this, Matt’s still fuckin’ big and Brian’s still only fuckin’ human. It takes them a moment, Brian cursing his lover as loudly as ever.

Of course when Matt stills, in to the hilt, Brian complains at him for not moving. Matt sometimes wonders why the fuck he risks so much to be with this idiot.

Matt pulls out and thrusts back in, hard, not meant to cause Brian pleasure, simply meant to piss him off.

“Thank you, dear, you want to work on your aim now?” Brian snarks back, twitching his foot to the side to try and kick Matt in the head.

“Of course, honey pie.” Matt responds, thrusting into him once more, hitting his prostate dead on, “You want to shut up?”

Whatever Brian’s response was, it’s lost in a cry of pleasure, something that probably annoys Brian as much as it entertains Matt. Matt decides to play fair now, if only because he’d like to get off at some point today as well.

He starts moving into Brian, revelling in the tight, velvet heat that he’s being pulled into. Brian’s still letting out his wanton porn star moans, proving to Matt that he’s clearly doing this to try and prove a point that if he wants to talk and annoy him, he damn well will.

Matt drops kisses at Brian’s ankles, his eyes flicking down to watch Brian as he jacks himself off.

He’s a fuckin’ beautiful sight, even with the tissue stuffed in his nostrils. His head’s thrown back, eyes closed, the sounds coming from him are just the most erotic things - especially now he’s not exaggerating. His body’s flushed and arched and just fuckin’ perfect and it’s moments like this when Matt remembers why he risks so much to be with this idiot.

“Love you.” Matt whispers against his ankle, not willing to say it near the other mans ears right now lest it be used against him later. He’s said the words before, will say them again, isn’t ashamed of it. But right now, he’s not giving Brian ammunition.

“Close, Matty,” Brian cries out, the nickname falling off his tongue in one of it’s rare sincere moments. It’s usually used when Brian’s being particularly obnoxious.

“Me too, Bri.”

Matt turns his attention back to Brian as he brings himself to completion, watching the flush creeping across him, the sweat rolling across him.

He watches as the long fingers moves across his thick cock, watches as Brian flicks his wrist just so, eyes flicking up to his face as he hears that cry which tells him Brian’s there, hoarse, breathy, just fuckin’ _perfect_.

“Fuck, Brian…” Matt growls, his own release hitting him now, his hands gripping even tighter to where he’s holding Brian as the white hot pleasure courses through his body, spilling his seed into his lover.

He drops Brian’s legs as he regains his composure, looks over at Brian to see him cleaning himself up. Matt drops onto the couch by him, takes the tissue the other man provides.

“Okay, so now you’ll shut up?” He asks, a hopeful smile on his face.

Brian’s got that look on his face, the one where he really lives up to his fuckin’ name. His mouth opens and Matt turns away, ready to find something to throw at him.

Nothing comes out.

Matt turns back to look at Brian, who’s mouth is moving with no sound short of a very hoarse, almost inaudible whisper coming out. There’s a look of distress on his face. He stares across at Matt in terror.

Matt.

Matt just laughs and turns his head to the ceiling.

“Okay, man, what do you want?”


End file.
